


The Seven

by Kienova



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Imaginary scenarios, Seven Deadly Sins, Solo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6650764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kienova/pseuds/Kienova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are seven cardinal virtues. Seven deadly sins. And she possesses them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Humilitas/Superbia

**Author's Note:**

> Humility/Pride
> 
> Pride is considered to be the root of all sin, and from it the other deadly sins spring.   
> Wasn't it a coincidence then, that pride was the first sin she fell victim to when it came to him.

The birth had been a tricky one, lasting until the small hours of the morning, the baby’s shoulder having caught on the pelvis of its mother. It had taken a terrifyingly long time to fix, Doctor Turner becoming increasingly worried and agitated as the minutes ticked by and the baby’s heart rate started to slow. She could see the sweat beading on his brow, his arms shaking slightly from exhaustion as he finally managed to force the baby free, the tiny infant sliding into his hands with a great wail.

The entire room slid into a state of relief, the first harbingers of the morning sunlight cresting through the lace curtains just as he placed the baby on the mother’s stomach, letting the tiny child cry as he leaned back, a sigh slipping from his lungs as he closed his eyes.

“A beautiful little girl,” Sister Bernadette mused, rubbing the infant’s back with a towel as Mrs. Nichols let out a shuddering laugh, tired hands gingerly tracing their way through the baby’s sparse hair.

They only remained another hour, the placenta appearing only ten minutes after the baby did, completely intact. By the time they walked out of the flat, the street was slowly coming to life, the summer sun gaining strength as it rose higher in the east.

“You were wonderful in there Sister, I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, tossing her a tired smile as they walked.

“Oh, you would have done just fine without me,” she said in reply, her desire for humility present in the way she formed her words, never wanting to draw attention to her own actions. 

“I doubt it,” he chuckled. “We’ve only an hour and a half before clinic, doesn’t seem like there’s any point to me attempting to go back home and sleep,” Doctor Turner muttered, rubbing a hand over his face as he started to walk towards the church hall, Sister Bernadette keeping pace with him, her bike at her side.

“I’m sure there’s plenty to do at the hall,” she mused, casting him a glance out of the side of her eye. She couldn’t help but notice the way the early dawn light struck his features, the golden rays catching on his lashes and making them glow with hints of auburn. The few strands of grey in his hair turned copper, bringing out the dark green that flecked his irises as his fringe fell into his face. She couldn’t help but think him to be the most handsome thing she had ever seen in that moment. They slipped into an easy silence then, seeming to both respect the quiet atmosphere of Poplar in the morning, the only people passing them being workers on their way to the docks as they wandered to the hall, slipping through the doors and into the complete stillness of the empty room.

She went to deposit her bag in the kitchen, popping her head back out the minute she heard the pained groan echoing off the walls.

“Doctor? Are you quite all right?” she asked, alarm rising in her chest as she watched him touch his shoulder, breath hissing out from between his clenched teeth.  

“I haven’t had to fight through a birth like that in ages,” he confessed, trying to offer her a slight smile as he sat down on one of the chairs in the centre of the hall, wincing as he tried to maneuver his arm. “Apparently I did not prepare adequately for such a work out.” She couldn’t stop herself if she tried, wandering across the dull tiles until she stood adjacent to him, frowning as she watched his features contort at the motion he was trying to achieve.

“May I?” she queried, motioning towards him. He regarded her with a look of trepidation for a moment before giving her a slight nod.

“I suppose you can only improve things,” he joked, eyes tracking her as she dashed back into the kitchen.

“Take your coat off then, and the shirt,” she called, missing the way his eyes widened before he obeyed, grimacing as he removed the multiple layers until he sat in just his trousers and vest, suspenders curling at his sides as he finished placing the fabric on the chair next to him. She reappeared then, a slight blush on her features as she ducked behind him. “I’m sorry, this is probably going to be a little cold,” she said, pouring a small amount of oil onto her hands before she reached forward, rubbing it into the flesh of his shoulder.

“Ahh,” he groaned, torn between the pain the motion caused and the relief that her tiny fingers were already bringing to him in the simple motions of pushing the oil into his skin.

“Sorry,” she apologised, trying to keep her mind on the movement of her hands and not the way the noise had struck a chord within her, her heart racing beneath her ribs at the sound.

“Its fine,” he assured her, trying to relax against the hard back of the chair as she continued her ministrations. Her fingers skimmed under the edge of his vest, pressing tightly to the muscle and sinew that spanned from his neck to his shoulder, her thumb sweeping up towards his neck while her fingers pressed into slight hollow where his collarbone lay, her short nails scraping at the skin. He couldn’t help but let out a moan, his head dropping back as his eyes closed. He hadn’t realised how furious the entire right side of his body had become from the delivery until that moment, Sister Bernadette’s hands giving him more relief and pleasure in that moment than his own hands had in months.

She chuckled softly behind him, digits drawing tight circles against his skin, moving from his neck to his collar bone to his shoulder, rotating his arm slightly as she went. He released a symphony of grunts and groans, loving the feeling of her hands on him.

For her part, Sister Bernadette tried desperately to concentrate on what she was doing, but it was becoming increasingly harder and harder as each minute slipped by. His flesh was slick beneath her hands thanks to the oil, heat slipping from him into the pads of her fingers as they pressed first in one spot then another. It was a sensation she had never truly had before, the skin not of a patient, but of a man who she found exceedingly attractive. The sounds he was making however were what was truly getting to her. Was this was he sounded like when he was given pleasure? Was this what he sounded like when making love? Was this how he sounded when a woman was atop him, riding him?

“Oh... yes, ah,” he moaned, bringing the images she was trying to push away to the forefront of her mind. She imagined him suddenly beneath her, in the middle of the floor of the church hall, his skin glistening from a combination of oil and sweat as she straddled him, her thighs bracketing his waist as she moved above him. In her mind his head thrashed against the tiles, groans slipping from his lips every few seconds as she shifted, her hips creating a frantic rhythm as she ground against him, her own naked skin glistening with sweat in the sunlight, his hands coming up to palm at her breasts.

“Does that feel good?” she asked in reality. _“Do I make you feel good?”_ she added in her mind. Her voiced question came out more breathy than she intended, her heart racing, a throbbing rising between her legs until she could barely stand, her fingers shaking as she pressed into a particularly sore spot of his rotator cuff.

“Oh God, yes,” he gasped. In her mind she imagined him breaking apart with that sentiment, his hips surging up off the floor and against hers, his hands wrapping around her hips and yanking her pelvis tightly against him as he jerked against her. The rush of wetness she felt from her centre made her dizzy, heat spreading up her neck from beneath her wimple as she managed to release the last bit of tension in his arm. His head fell forward as she gingerly removed her hands from his skin, the flesh now pink from the pressure of her fingers and flecked with tiny lines from where her nails skimmed against him. “You are a goddess,” he breathed, a chuckle rumbling out of his chest as he managed to stand, rotating his shoulder to show her that she had repaired the damage. She smiled, head thick with the fog of arousal as he reached down to get his shirt.

“I’m just going to... wash my hands,” she mumbled, hastily leaving the hall and heading to the lavatory. She locked the door behind her swiftly, glad of the early hour as she frantically yanked at her skirts, pulling them up just enough to slide her hand beneath the fabric. Her fingers, still warm from friction and tinged with oil slid easily through the wetness that enveloped her centre, a hiss escaping her at the feeling of her nail catching against her swollen clit.

She recalled the sounds the doctor had been making with such ease and clarity, the way his chest heaved as he released the chorus of reverberations tainted with physical pleasure. Her head thudded against the wooden door as she gasped, tracing over her centre with increasing vigour.

“That’s right, I’m the one to make you feel this way, let me show you what I can do, how I can make you feel,” she panted into the silent room, the images she had conjured in the hall rushing back to her. The sight of his skin, darker than her own, glowing with perspiration. The image of her tiny hands against his chest, her palms pressed to his pectoral muscles as her thighs burned from her movements. She imagined him flipping her onto her back, her spine pressing into the tiles that had been heated from his own flesh, pushing her legs up higher until they were on his shoulders, his arms bracketing her as he pounded into her.

 _“You’re the only one who makes me feel like this. I can’t control myself around you,”_ he confessed in her mind, leaning his head down until he could latch his teeth onto her neck, biting into the tendons.

She shattered against her own fingers, hips jumping against her hand as she released a soft gasp to the room, her knees buckling and causing her to slide down the door, landing on the floor in a heap of fabric and contracting muscles. She rested there for a few moments, catching her breath before standing on shaky legs, washing her hands and fixing her clothes.

Glancing up at herself in the mirror she noticed an odd smugness about her eyes. The woman looking back at her was one who was filled with both shame of her actions and one that was riddled with pride. Even though she hadn’t actually bedded the doctor, she knew she had given him pleasure when no one else could, even if it was from the pressure of her fingers against his skin.    

 


	2. Humanitas/Invidia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had never been one to be jealous of her friends when she was a child. Knowing what she wanted and what she couldn't have as an adult, however, changed that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kindness/Envy
> 
> She had never been one to be jealous of her friends when she was a child. Knowing what she wanted and what she couldn't have as an adult, however, changed that.

“He was the perfect gentleman, actually,” Chummy smiled, looking down at the table.  
  
“Damn! How disappointing,” Trixie groused. 

“Trixie!” Cynthia scolded.

“But you are a woman, Chummy, and Constable Noakes is a man, so I imagine that the natural progression of this relationship,” Sister Bernadette started.

“Steady on!” Chummy hastily muttered, a slight blush tinting the tips of her ears at the thought that a nun may be about to give her _the talk_.  
  
“Will eventually entail some sort of flirtatious behaviour, outside the realms of what is considered gentlemanly conduct,” Sister Bernadette finished, unfazed by the interruption.  She had a smile playing about her lips, no animosity or judgement burning in her gaze, but rather a look of kindness for the woman at the head of the table that always seemed to feel so awkward in her own skin.

“Were there any other future outings planned at all?” Jenny queried, trying to hold in her own laughter at the thought of a woman of the cloth talking about sex.

“He did ask if I'd like to accompany him to the dance next week,” Chummy answered. Sister Bernadette only half paid attention to the rest of the conversation, throwing in a comment about the dance just to be safe before the groups was interrupted.

“I take it Constable Noakes is the source of all this excitement? It's true what they say, then.  
There is a sock for every old slipper,” Sister Evangelina said, startling Sister Bernadette out of her own mind, bringing her quickly back to the state of the kitchen and the table full of young, romanticising nurses. She gave them a smile before retreating after Sister Evangelina and heading into the sitting room so that she could listen for the phone should it ring.

As she sat with a book she found her mind wandering to the thought of going to a dance. She had admittedly never been, instead focusing on her studies and her faith when she was a girl before entering into the convent. But now she found herself wanting; wondering what it would be to get dressed up and go out at night with a man. To dance until the wee hours of the morning, drinking, and perhaps being the recipient of some ungentlemanly conduct herself.

The phone ringing shook her out of her thoughts, forcing her to dash from her chair and lift the receiver, an image of Doctor Turner leaning in towards her in the dim light of a dance hall slipping from her mind as she went to work.

XxX

It wasn’t until she was on the way home from a call the night of the dance that her desires raised their heads from within her. She was walking back to Nonnatus, having chosen to leave her bike as the house was only a block away and the night was still warm enough not to give her a chill. The lights on the block were dim in the fog that was streaming in off the Thames, casting shadows throughout Poplar. She stilled as she neared an alleyway, her pulse increasing at the strange breathy noises she could hear from the blurry abyss. Taking a deep breath she slowly inched her way close, unsure of what she was about to find. Instead of a something horrific she felt herself blush, quickly backing away from the alley and heading towards the convent much quicker than she had been previously walking.

In the shadows of the alleyway she had witnessed Chummy and Peter in a passionate embrace, the policeman having pushed the nurse up against the wall, kissing her firmly as his hand clutched at her hip. For her own part, Chummy’s hands had been pressed into Peter’s hair.

Sister Bernadette fled up the stairs and into the main hallway of the convent, her cheeks still painted red as she took her bag to the clinical room, dumping her instruments on the table to be cleaned as she tried to rid herself of the image and the feelings that arose in her as a result. She couldn’t help it, jealousy raging within her chest unbidden. She hadn’t realised how much she wanted physical affection from another person until that moment. She wondered what it would be like to have a man press her to a wall, to have his tongue invading her mouth, his hands all over her body. Shaking her head she tried to concentrate on what she was doing, feeling her hands shaking as she turned on the autoclave. She managed to distract herself from her envy for twenty minutes, finishing her cleanup before she headed for her cell, her mind already whirring back to life.

As she changed for bed she found herself hesitant, deciding to lock her door and forgo her nightgown, lying on the bed naked and letting the chilled fabric of her sheets cool the heated skin on her body. She closed her eyes, trying to quiet her mind but it was useless. The second she was no longer looking at the ceiling she saw the image of a passionate embrace within her mind’s eye – although not it was not Chummy and Peter, but rather herself and Doctor Turner.

She imagined the doctor with startling clarity, the feeling of his skin still printed into her senses from when she had helped him with his shoulder. Would all of his skin feel like that, were he to press his body to hers? Would all of it be soft and pliant beneath her fingers?

She bit her lip, blindly removing the cap from her head and letting her hair fan out against her pillow, the white fabric being tossed onto the floor as she let her hands wander, skimming over her stomach before one slid up her chest, cupping her breast between small fingers. His hands were so much bigger than hers – they would feel so different. She imagined his large digits spanning across her chest – they would cover her breast with ease, calloused fingertips pressing into her.

Would he be gentle and teasing, just dragging his hand across her in a whisper of motion? Or would he be hard and rough, pawing at her with abandon?  She gripped herself tightly, fingers digging into the flesh beneath her palm until it made her gasp slightly, the pressure causing a surge of wetness between her thighs.

She reached down, letting her fingers skirt her labia, biting her tongue at the moan that wanted to break free at the sensation, the skin sensitive and swollen with arousal. She jerked her hand away clenched her fists, knowing that she had promised herself that she wasn’t going to do this again – that she would resist against the temptation to touch herself after she had succumb to her own desires that day before the clinic. But now, with her mind running rampant with jealousy and desire she couldn’t help herself. She grabbed the spare pillow that she kept beside the bed, shoving it between her thighs in an attempt to stem the yearning to put her hands there, but it only served to arouse her more. She whimpered, rocking her hips against the feeling of the fabric sliding against her most sensitive area.

She imagined the doctor pressing against her, his shirt missing but trousers still on, a firm thigh parting her legs and pressing up against her centre. She feels his chest drag against her breasts, her nipples pebbling as he paws at her hip, grinding against her as they kiss. She imagined the feeling of his tongue against hers, slick and parting her lips, their breath mingling as he manages to bite at her, drawing a moan from her throat as his cloth covered erection presses into where her thigh meets her pelvis, a long hard line beneath his trousers.

“ _God, yes_ ,” he moaned into her ear, pulling her tightly against him, her hips frantically dragging against his leg, wetness smearing across the fabric as her arousal mounts, his own desire flooding her senses as the smell of sex started to permeate the air around them. His hand moved from her hip to her breast, starting to grip the flesh there as his fingers found and started pulling at her nipple. She could hear his breath increasing in frequency, the motions of his hips quickening in their pace and severity, his teeth dragging from her lips down to her neck, latching onto the sensitive skin of her collarbone. Without warning she felt him stiffen, a loud groan ripping from his throat as he jerked against her, spilling to his pants in long, thick pulses. The feeling of him twitching against her causes her own hips to increase their rhythm, quick circles interspersed with to and fro motions that rapidly spin her from on the edge to crashing into an orgasm, her entire body lurching at the release.  

Panting, she opens her eyes as the waves ebb, finding herself alone in her room, one hand pressing bruises into her breast, her nipple practically purple from how tightly she had been tugging on it. The pillow that was between her legs was covered in her arousal, the damp fabric a horrifying testament to her actions. Flushing bright red, she pulled it from its location, hissing as the cloth slid against her engorged clit, sending an aftershock through her body and causing her to expel another pulse of fluid from her centre.

Taking a deep breath she removed the pillowcase, tossing the pillow across the room and wincing as she cleaned herself off with the already ruined fabric. Standing on shaking legs she found her nightgown, tugging it on over her naked body, hating how the cotton dragged across the bruises she created, almost tempting her to pleasure herself again. Instead, she placed the pillowcase in the tiny basket of laundry she was gathering up, forcing her hair back up under her cap before curling back onto the bed, a shuddering breath escaping her.

She was glad Chummy and Peter seemed to be getting along. They both deserved to be content, and from what she had seen, they made one another very happy. She made a mental note to tell Chummy that in the morning when the nurses were sure to be gagging for more details about the dance and subsequent aftermath.

If she still had the fleeting notion that she wished she had been to the dance, that she was the one to be on the end of someone’s gaze, she decided to ignore it. She had done enough sinning for one night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3


	3. Patientia/ Ira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patience/ Wrath  
> One may have the patience of a saint, but with the anger of a volcano underneath, vying for control at each breath.

There are times when she wished that she wasn’t a nun, if simply so that she could speak her mind towards the various personalities of Poplar. It seemed to her that every obnoxious woman in the district was at the clinic, asking a million questions, fighting with one another and, much to her dismay, ogling Doctor Turner. She had a headache that was growing behind her eyes, pounding in her sinus cavity as she called the next patient into the examination area, asking the necessary questions by rote. The woman was complaining about her back hurting which Sister Bernadette assured her was normal at eight months pregnant, smiling weakly as she checked the position of the baby.

She recorded her findings, going over the procedure of the delivery pack and home inspection without any real emotion, trying to tamp down her ire as the woman asked if Doctor Turner was going to examine her as well.

“I’ll see if he’s free to check you Mrs. Davidson,” she said, biting back a growl as she stepped out of the cubical. She took a shuddering breath, heading into the kitchen where she found the doctor, leaning against the counter and indulging in a cup of tea with Nurse Lee. “Doctor, if you could assure Mrs. Davidson that everything is as it should be, I would greatly appreciate it,” she interrupted, her temper simmering under the surface even with him. For some reason, she was irritated by the fact he looked so relaxed, away from the prying eyes of the women of Poplar.

“Of course Sister,” he grinned, putting his teacup down and following her back out of the kitchen. She stood back while he looked over her notes and spoke with Mrs. Davidson, assuring her that everything was on the right course and that it wouldn’t be long. She could feel herself grinding her teeth, somehow everything making her angry, especially Mrs. Davidson placing a flirtatious hand on Doctor Turner’s arm at his insistence that she was fine.

“Thank you Doctor,” Sister Bernadette snapped, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice, her patience disappearing with startling speed. Mrs. Davidson didn’t notice. Doctor Turner did. He gave her a worried expression, following her back out of the cubicle.

“Sister, is everything all right?” he asked, keeping his distance from her. She wanted to yell that no, it wasn’t all right. That seeing him be fondled by those married women was anything but _all right_.

_“Fine,” she muttered, looking alarmed when he grabbed her by the elbow, dragging her into an empty cubical._

_“You’re not fine,” he insisted, voice low, the chatter from the clinic nearly drowning out his words. “You’re irritable; tired. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.” She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest._

_“I can assure you, Doctor, I am perfectly well.” She didn’t speak of her jealousy. Of her ire towards the women in the clinic and their actions towards him and to one another. Didn’t speak of how she had the irrational desire to slap him across the face for paying those married women any attention – even if it was in a professional way, when he gave her space instead of touching her like he did them, no matter how chaste._

_“Sister, may I be frank?” he queried, seeming to ignore her statement, not really even waiting for a response before he continued. “I think you might be suffering from a bout of hysteria.”_

_She was ready to protest, to tell him that hysteria wasn’t an actual illness, that it was just a way for men to explain women acting out their emotions, when she moaned, feeling him pull her towards him, his hand sliding between her thighs and pressing gently._

_“I think you need treatment. Immediately,” he whispered, mouth so close to her ear she could feel each syllable as he backed her up towards the exam table, her thighs hitting the metal frame and flimsy mattress quicker than she thought possible. His hands were on her arse a second later, picking her up and depositing her on the cot, fingers pressing into her hips as he leaned forward, a sloppy kiss handing on her lips._

_“Maybe you’re right,” she agreed, head light at the arousal that flooded through her as he pressed the heel of his palm against her, grinding it slightly. She growled, tangling her hands in his hair as she shoved him down, causing him to fall to his knees at the edge of the examination table, looking up at her from the floor with hooded eyes. Carefully he hiked her skirts up, settling them around her waist, tugging her to the edge of the table, pulling her knickers down a second later and letting them catch around one of her ankles. He leaned his head in then, obeying the gently yank of her hands, before he slowly ran his tongue across her centre, smirking against her as she let her head fall back._

_“Yes, definitely a case of hysteria, and a bad one at that,” he mused, his breath puffing across her._

_“Stop talking,” she growled, nails scraping across his scalp as she rested her legs on his shoulders, his tongue flicking out to slide over her. He moved quickly, one second his tongue dancing over her clit in tight circles, the next it was probing at her with deep, broad licks. When he pulled her clit into his mouth, sucking hard, she had to bite her cheek in order to stop herself from screaming, her hips jerking against the onslaught. He could feel her thighs trembling as she tried to keep them from clenching around him, loving how she was so quickly becoming undone at his actions. He released her with a rush of breath, his tongue immediately lapping at her again, rolling over the sensitive bundle of nerves while he slid a hand up her thigh, teasing her entrance with a finger._

_She gasped as he slowly pushed into her with a single digit, his own moan rumbling out of his chest at how tightly her body gripped him, trying to pull him deeper within her. Her breathing started coming in quicker succession, her chest heaving as she twitched against him, her hips moving against her own volition as she sought her release against his hands and mouth. Carefully, knowing that it might hurt her, he slid a second finger in next to the first, slowly moving them in and out, loving how responsive her body was, wetness seeping out over his fingers and down onto his palm._

_“Ohhhh,” she breathed out, hand again tightening in his hair as she pulled him a fraction closer, electricity shooting through her as he crooked his fingers inside her, sending her spiralling into orgasm. Her back arched, hips bucking as she came, jolting against him and keeping him exactly where he was, his hand and tongue caressing her until she slowly came back from her high, limbs weak and shaky as she flopped back onto the exam table, panting. He stood a moment later, wiping his chin and mouth with the sleeve of his lab coat, a smirk on his lips._

“Sister Bernadette, is everything all right?”

The words shattered the illusion that had been filling her mind, pulling her instantly back to the present. She wasn’t strewn across the exam table, skirt about her hips. He wasn’t standing between her thighs, lips pink and swollen. Instead, they were standing outside Mrs. Davidson’s exam room, Doctor Turner’s expression quickly becoming more and more concerned with each passing second that she didn’t reply.

“I... I’m sorry Doctor, I think I might be coming down with something,” she responded, making a hasty retreat to the kitchen. She gripped the edge of the counter, eyes clenched shut as she tried to regulate the swift beating of her heart and the throbbing that resounded between her legs. She bit her lip, fighting back the tears that were gathering behind her eyes. She needed to get her desire for the doctor under control, her irritation at herself quickly surpassing the anger she had felt towards the various women attending the clinic.

She wasn’t angry at them, not really, and she never had been. She was angry about the fact that she wanted something, someone, she couldn’t have. With shaking hands she took off her apron, retrieving her coat and giving Sister Julienne a swift excuse of being unwell as she dashed from the clinic.

She didn’t notice the dark eyes of the doctor tracing her movements as she left, nor the concerned expression that remained on his features for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3


	4. Industria/ Acedia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diligence/ Sloth  
> One could be diligent in every action, but desire nothing more than to bask in idolness under the hands of another.

He was rounding the corner when he saw the commotion, the irate voice of the man carrying from the steps and down into the alley. Vaguely, he noticed Constable Noakes a dozen paces away on the main road when the altercation at the entrance to the convent changes, the male figure yelling before taking a swing at the woman, striking her and sending her down the steps. Patrick felt his heart stop before his feet carried him through the rest of the alley at a run. The assailant rushed past him, Peter letting out a bellow as he immediately took up the chase, but Patrick couldn’t find it in himself to care about what was happening beyond the bottom of the stairs.

“Stay still,” he insisted, dropping to his knees next to Sister Bernadette, the younger woman lying on the pavement, gasping, her cheek red from where she had been struck. With practiced ease he checked her spine, finding nothing wrong and letting out a breath in relief. “I’m sorry Sister, I need to check for a head injury before I can move you,” he apologised, carefully removing her wimple and running his hand over her scalp. Absently, he noticed how soft her hair felt against his fingers, relaxing even more when his hands came away clear of blood. He checked her cheek next, pressing his thumbs around her orbital bone and her jaw, finding everything intact. “I need to do a full exam so I’m going to take you inside, all right?” Gently, he scooped her into his arms, slowly making his way up the stairs and into the convent.

“Bloody manky scunner!” The words exploded out of the nun the minute the door swung shut behind them, followed by a loud, pained groan. Patrick looked down at the woman in his arms with shock on his face, not used to anything of the sort coming from the tiny nun. Thinking back on it, he was certain he had never even heard her raise her voice before that moment. He was going to press her to ask her what her words had meant, being unfamiliar with Scottish dialect, when he caught sight of the grimace on her face.

“Would you like me to take you to the parlour or would you prefer your room?” he asked, trying not to notice how the words sounded.

“Up the stairs, then go left,” she said, breathing through clenched teeth as Patrick followed her instructions, glad that she was so light in his arms as he navigated the upper floors of Nonnatus, finally coming to the appropriate bedroom. “I was just trying to be diligent and inform him of the proper treatment for his wife,” she muttered. “Apparently, he’s been away at sea and there’s no way he could be the father of the baby she’s carrying.” He smiled sadly, noting the shock creeping into her voice. Shifting the door open with his foot he found that the cell was stark, the only real colour coming from the green blankets that adorned the bed.

“Would you like me to get Sister Julienne before I start your examination?” Patrick queried, his chest aching at the pained moan that slid from the woman’s lips as he lowered her to the mattress.

“No, it’s all right,” Sister Bernadette replied. “Sister Julienne is at a meeting this morning. Sister Monica Joan is the only one here, and I don’t want her to worry.” As she breathed through the agony her body was quickly making known to her, she tried not to think about how the doctor had seen her with her hair exposed, his hands running through the strands as he had checked her for injuries. He was the first person in nearly a decade to see her without her wimple and, as he carefully helped slide her scapular off, she realised that he would be seeing a lot more of her exposed as well. More than anyone had seen in years since she had been subjected to a physical during her nursing training. She felt vaguely dizzy and self conscious at the notion, having to reach up to help him when her crucifix tangled in the heavy blue fabric of her habit.

“Are you all right?” he asked every few moments, a slight flush on his cheeks as he gingerly stripped her down to her slip, averting his gaze from her as much as possible. She nodded in the affirmative, yelping as he placed his hands on her shoulder, pressing a spot that was immediately tender. “I’m sorry,” he rushed.

“It’s... it’s fine,” she responded, breathing through her teeth. “I think I hit my shoulder on the way down.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologised again, moving his hands tenderly over her shoulder, manipulating it and moving her arm, checking for breaks and dislocation. Finding none he laid it back on the bed, eyes flicking up to her face, noticing how she seemed to be staring at the ceiling. “Is there anywhere that is particularly painful?” Patrick questioned, watching her shake her head.

“I don’t think so. Everything just kind of... aches,” Sister Bernadette muttered. He gave a curt nod before resuming his examination, hands skimming over first one arm, then the other, checking each of her joints for any breaks. Her legs came next, starting with her feet before moving to her ankles and up her calves. When his hands slid beneath the fabric of her slip and onto her thighs she hissed, hating how the feeling of his hands pressing into a bruise that was forming on her thigh sent a spike of arousal through her, heat pooling at her centre.

“I need to check your pelvis,” he said, his voice sounding off to her. He wasn’t meeting her gaze, his eyes focused on the blanket beneath her.

“All right,” she agreed, feeling his hands shift higher until they were on her hips, manipulating the skin there so that he could feel the bones. She closed her eyes, hoping that his fingers wouldn’t slip – that he wouldn’t realise how stimulated she was from his actions, even though he was doing them purely out of concern rather than sexual interest.  She whimpered when he pressed on another bruise, waving off his concerned question when he asked if it was something he needed to check more closely. He seemed to take forever on her pelvis, hands sliding under her back to check her tailbone, fingers accidentally sliding under the hem of her knickers as he went.

“I’m so sorry,” he rushed, extracting his hands, a blush painting his cheeks. She knew it had been an accident, that he was being nothing but professional, that the situation was one he was uncomfortable with – she was a nun for Christ’s sake – and yet she wanted to tell him to put his hands back. To bask in the feeling of laziness that rushed through her body at being able to keep her own hands still while he racketed her arousal higher and higher with every pass of his hands.

“You’re just doing your job Doctor,” she assured him, trying to discreetly squeeze her thighs together.

“I should check your abdomen and your ribs. Let me get you a towel to... to cover yourself with,” he muttered, standing from the edge of the bed and walking to the dresser, retrieving the required item. He tugged the extra blanket from the end of the bed up and over her hips, averting his gaze as she took her slip off, wincing at the action, before she lay back down, covering her breasts with the flannel material. “Sister,” he gasped, noticing the bruising that was already blooming across her stomach and ribs, crawling underneath the towel and, he assumed, across her breasts.

Patrick’s hands were immediately on her ribs, pressing across each of the bones with precision, feeling in the valleys between, careful of the purpling marks. He apologised rapidly when he had to move his hands under the towel. Even though he couldn’t see her bare flesh she felt as if he could, his fingers gently manipulating the skin, his thumb accidentally brushing against a nipple and causing her to let out a moan.

“That... that’s sore,” she whimpered, desperate to cover her own indiscretion. She felt light headed as he palpated her breast, a look of concentration on his face. She bit the inside of her cheek, wetness flooding her knickers, her clit throbbing painfully, begging for attention.

“As far as I can tell, you’ve not broken anything. I’ll go get some salve from the clinical room to try and ease the bruising and a couple aspirin, but you’re going to be very sore until the swelling goes down,” he removed his hands from beneath the towel, ducking out of the room a second later, making sure to close the door behind him.

She couldn’t stop herself, her right hand immediately beneath the blanket and her knickers, fingers skirting over her centre. She hissed at the sensation, knowing that although she wanted to drag things out, that she wanted to glide her hands across her body in the same way she had been feeling Doctor Turner skimming his palms and fingers along her skin, that she couldn’t. He would be back soon, would ask questions, would be scandalised if he saw.

_Or maybe he would join you. Would pin you down the way you want him to. Force your legs apart, tear your knickers off and press his cock inside you. Maybe he would make love to you, fuck you, make you feel wanted and beautiful._

_Maybe he would press his fingers into the bruises on your hips, make you teeter on the edge of pain and pleasure. Maybe he would thrust hard into you, make the bed rock, his pelvis pressing into your clit with every move he makes. Maybe he would send you spiralling into an orgasm that is from his body instead of your own fingers. Make your body clench around his, drawing a groan from his lips as he spills inside you._

_Maybe he would love you._

The thoughts racing through her head combined with the quick circles she traced over her clit with one hand, the other pressing gently against her centre, just the tip of a finger slipping inside of her, sent her shattering into an orgasm. Her body shook from the force of it, pushing a gasp out of her lungs as she hastily turned her face into the pillow, letting out a scream into the fabric. She moved her hands back quickly, cringing as they came away sticky and wet with her own arousal and release. She winced, shoving them beneath the sheets on the bed to clean the evidence of her deviance, returning them to her side just as the door opened, the doctor entering quietly and resting the pot of salve and a glass of water on the bedside table, seating himself on the edge of the mattress.

“I can ask one of the nurses to do this for you if you’re not comfortable,” he said, keeping his voice low as he looked at her flushed cheeks.

“It’s fine Doctor, but thank you for the consideration.” He gave her a soft smile before scooping out some of the salve and rubbing it into her bruises.

If she replayed the sensation of his hands gliding over her skin for the next few weeks whenever she was hidden away in her room at night, fingers delving between her legs, that was her business and no one else’s.


	5. Temperantia/Gula

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temperance/Gluttony
> 
> Abstinance was one of the devotions she strove to live by; tempering her life in virtue. She couldn't help but be gluttonous when it came to thinking of him, however.

January had broken as a cold and dreary month, the air twisted with ice and yet not quite cold enough for snow to form, despite the draft and damp that seeped into every nook and cranny of Poplar. The tenement flats suffered the most, the old buildings still striped of care from the Blitz, the people huddling together for warmth, desperately trying to keep the chill out.

The row houses were only slightly better equipped, the insulation sometimes lacking but the fireplaces burning constantly, trying to heat the rooms. For babies being born at that particular time of year, blankets were in excess, body heat from the mother being so important when the infant was swaddled for bed. It was only after the newest member of the Johnson family was carefully secured under a mass of blankets and heated from the roaring fire that Sister Bernadette and Doctor Turner took their leave of the house, shivering the moment they stepped back out onto the street.

“You would think it would snow,” Doctor Turner muttered, already setting off towards Nonnatus a few blocks away where he had abandoned his car earlier in the morning.

“As much as this weather is frigid, it is still much easier to ride a bike in the rain than it is in the snow,” Sister Bernadette answered, chuckling slightly at how Doctor Turner winced at the notion.

“Sorry,” he apologised, tugging his coat tighter around him, glancing up at the heavy dark clouds that loomed in the sky, blanketing the city in semi-darkness despite the hour. He gasped a split second later when the heavens opened up, a sheet of near freezing rain and sleet pelting down onto them. Sister Bernadette couldn’t help the slight shriek that escaped her, her hand tightening on her bag as she took off at a run, Doctor Turner close on her heels as they dashed down the laneway, cutting through an alley in an attempt to get back to Nonnatus as quickly as possible. It only took them a few moments, but they were both soaked by the time they darted under the roof of the bike shed.

Patrick had water dripping from his hair, his coat having darkened in colour as it got wet. For her part, Sister Bernadette was shivering, her clothes clinging to her body, revealing how tiny she was beneath the thick linen of her habit. She blushed, partially from the cold, and partially from the way he looked at her, almost startled to see that she did have a figure beneath her clothes.

“That was unexpected,” she muttered, shivering, trying to draw her coat around her more, giving up when she realised she was completely soaked through.

“Indeed,” he answered, ducking his head so he could look up at the sky, frowning when he realised the rain was not going to stop in the next few moments, but looked as if it could go on for hours. “You should get inside and get warmed up before you catch pneumonia.”

“And you should get home to do the same,” she countered. In her head, she wondered what he would do, how he would react, if she invited him inside to warm up. Offered to dry his clothes for him by the fire. Took his hand and led him to her bed. She blinked water out of her eyes, forcing her mind back to reality. A reality where she could not ask him such things – should not even think of them, let alone want them.

“Take care Sister,” he said, taking a deep breath before darting out into the rain again, quickly sliding into his car as she watched. She waited until he had driven away before racing up the stairs and into the convent, finding the hall deserted and the building in near silence. Cynthia popped her head around the corner, the girl being responsible for the telephone, with a worried look at the state of the woman in front of her, water dripping on the tiles.

“Sister, you must be freezing!” Cynthia rushed, taking the bag from Sister Bernadette’s trembling hands. “Why don’t you go take a nice long bath to warm up? I’ll come get you if there’s an emergency.” Sister Bernadette nodded her thanks, teeth chattering as she kicked her shoes off before she headed for the stairs, her mind whirring at the memory of Doctor Turner, soaking wet, as she gathered herself some dry clothes.

It took her a few moments to warm her fingers enough to be able to use them properly, but she eventually managed it, undoing the strap of her wimple and laying the damp fabric on the counter, letting her hair flutter down onto her shoulders, the strands damp against the skin of her neck. She wondered what Doctor Turner would think of her, if he were to see her like she actually was. If he were to see her as a woman, her body slender and feminine beneath the blue fabric that dwarfed her, her hair curling about her face as she regarded herself behind the locked door of the lavatory.

She undressed slowly, watching herself in the mirror until she became self conscious, suddenly insecure in her own skin like she had been so many times before. Would he like who she was beneath her clothes? Would the sight of her ignite a fire in him? Making his blood burn with arousal the way his body and soul caused hers to ignite? Or would he turn away?

She shook herself from the thoughts, bare feet padding across the bathroom floor until she reached the opposite side, leaning over the edge of the bath and turning on the hot water. She had been doing so well – having managed to keep her thoughts of him at bay for the last month, the Christmas seasons and preparations during Advent having occupied her mind until she could focus on nothing else. She had made sure she was exhausted each day so that her thoughts would not wander each night. But now, a mere ten days into January, she felt as if she could no longer contain her thoughts to the prison she had placed them in. No longer having any reason to restrict herself, nor the ability to do so, her heart and her mind too caught up in the man who had driven away from Nonnatus not twenty minutes before.

She ran her hands up and down her body, grabbing softly at her breasts and pulling her nipples as she discarded her slip on the bathroom floor. She let her hands continue downwards until one slid  between her legs, her delicate fingers gently rubbing her clit, making her gasp.

She intended on waiting for the water to fill the tub but she found herself become inpatient, her skin still chilled from the sleet as she tried to distract herself from the cold, allowing her fingers to slide up and down across her centre. She could feel the anticipation rising in her, imagining his dark gaze and floppy hair in front of her, preferably just as naked as she was. She could see his eyes darken with lust, his hands groping at her body as he shoved her gently towards the bedroom. She sighed, gripping the edge of the bathtub as she felt her own arousal coating her fingers. Oh yes, this was definitely something that she was enjoying, the abstinence she had self-imposed a near drought to her body.

With a soft sigh she stepped into the bathtub, unable to wait another minute, laying down and allowing the hot water to envelop her body. Her right hand remained between her legs, her movements becoming more frantic beneath the water until she forced her body to obey her, taking her hand away and letting her palm rest against the warm porcelain.

She moved her body beneath the stream then, initially thinking of warming her skin, but quickly becoming curious about the sensations the water could cause her, the torrent pounding against her leg as she placed her pelvis below the flow of water from the tap.  She spread her legs, putting them on the rim of the tub, allowing the water to hit between her thighs. She moved her hips slightly against the pulsating rhythm, groaning loudly as it hit a particularly sensitive spot.

She began moaning uncontrollably then, her hips moving more frantically as her head fell backwards onto the rim of the tub, hands coming up to cup and squeeze her breasts. Suddenly she stilled, a small scream escaping her lips as her body jerked, an orgasm rocketing through her, unexpected and all consuming. She twitched for a minute, eyes nearly rolling back in her head before her body sagged in the water, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she ran a hand through her damp hair, pushing it out of her face as she wriggled back and out of the stream from the tap.

She wondered if that was what it would feel like to have him bury his head between her thighs. Would his tongue slide over her in such a way that her entire body would quake? Would he suck the bundle of nerves that made her legs go weak and wetness pool at her centre until she dissolved into a puddle of release? Would it feel more overwhelming to find her peak when she was able to bask in the presence of another person and do little to no work to bring about her own pleasure?

She couldn’t help herself, legs still shaky as she moved herself back towards the water, wondering if she could reach oblivion again.

She imagined him looming above her as she closed her eyes at the renewed sensation, his lips ghosting over her neck as his hand slid down her belly and into the valley between her legs, his broad fingers stroking against the sensitive flesh there, thumb focused on her clit while his middle finger stroked down towards her opening. His lips sealed around her nipple, tongue laving over the hardening flesh as his fingers played with the wetness of her arousal pressing inside her, stretching her as they thrust in and out at a measured pace. He would whisper words of affection against her skin, dragging his teeth along the flesh until she could no longer contain herself and would gasp, hands tangling in his hair as her muscles contracted frantically around his fingers.

Moaning, she drew back from the tap again, her centre wet and aching as she shook with release, nearly oversensitive from stimulation. She imagined that he would kiss her then, sloppy but delicate, as if he was afraid she may break apart in his arms as she came down from her orgasm. Chest heaving, she reached out with her foot, turning the tap off before the bath overflowed. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the water lap around her, chasing the last vestiges of the cold from her body as her breathing slowed, harsh in the silence of the bathroom until it leveled out. Gradually, she gained enough energy to wash herself, rinsing the remnants of sleet from her hair before she eventually pulled herself from the bath, grabbing her robe before she wandered back to her room.

As she curled up on her bed, she let her eyes slip shut, exhaustion pulling at her mind until she felt herself drifting off to sleep, her heart aching as tears slipped from between her lashes.

She wondered if he would hold her after.    

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3


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